Cole hadn't stopped there and launched a kick into Joel's friend's groin—having worn his steel-toe work boots that day. As the friend bent over from the kick, Cole hit him with an upper cut to the face, sending him sprawling backwards.
Next, Cole jumped on Joel, who was on the ground holding his nose, blood leaking from between his fingers, and pounded on him until a teacher pulled him off. From that day on, neither Joel nor anyone else bothered Cole. His rep as a psycho bad boy had been born. He allowed it to flourish throughout his years at school, riding the wave like a rock star.
Cole sometimes wondered if he had done something else—told a teacher or got another kid to handle Joel—if he would have turned out differently. It seemed that the minute he throttled Joel, his life had taken a major turn. He'd gotten a taste of power and admiration and what it was like to have people fear him. And he loved it.
Thinking about the past as the police car drew closer relaxed Cole. He'd gone to a place other than his current one. But the journey hadn't lasted long. Now, back to the present, his trepidation returned. His heart hammered against his chest as the cop car's driver came into view. It was suddenly scalding in the Charger, the interior like an oven set to four hundred degrees. He yanked his eyes away from the police car and stared straight ahead. That's what innocent people do, right?
A few seconds later, the cop car had passed. Cole's eyes—not his head—moved to the rearview mirror. The cop car's taillights glowed red. The pig was turning around. The lawman had seen something he didn't like. Cole was going to be noticed. Maybe there was a BOLO out on him that he didn't know about, the authorities keeping it a secret. He'd have to give himself up or turn total outlaw and gun the pig down. Then he saw the deer dart across the road in front of the police car. The cruiser's taillights went out and the car kept going.
Cole let out the breath he'd been holding, along with a chuckle of relief. He gulped air for a minute and as soon as he went around the bend, he howled with joy.
The rest of the ride saw no police vehicles and forty-five minutes later, he pulled off the main road and onto the overgrown grassy trail that led to the camp. It was at that point he was finally able to feel safe again and could fully relax. He turned on the radio, keeping the volume low, and drove. About a quarter mile later, jamming to Anthrax's Among the Living, he spotted something metallic glinting in the road. It continued to do so as he neared it, the object like a twinkling star. He stopped the Charger a few feet from it, able to make out that it wasn't metal but some kind of paper-like material.
He turned the key in the ignition and killed the engine. The silence rushed in. He glanced around but only saw forest. Pulling the .357 magnum out of the glove box, he opened the car door and climbed out. He listened for voices, movement. Hearing nothing out of the ordinary, he walked to the front of the vehicle, took another glance around, and then proceeded to the shiny object.
Bending, he picked it up. It was the wrapper to an energy bar, the silver packaging had been, and still was, reflecting the sunlight. Fresh-looking smears of purple-colored nugget decorated the inside of the wrapper. He held it under his nose and got a whiff of berry. Someone had recently been by. Forest ranger? No. A warden of the park wouldn't litter. Had to be from a hiker, a civilian. Maybe a mountain biker.
Shit, he thought and hurried back to the car, taking the wrapper with him. He got behind the wheel and tossed the trash over his shoulder. With a turn of the key, the Charger's engine rumbled to life.
He drove slowly, not only so he wouldn't bottom out too badly, but because he didn't want to startle the wrapper's former owner and whoever else might be in the area. For all he knew, there could be a large group of outdoorsy people passing through or some kind of law enforcement. He also worried that Derek would be listening to music or making some kind of other noise and attract the attention of the individuals. If their camp was discovered, they'd have to move, and if the people saw anything they weren't supposed to see . . . Well, he didn't want to think about that. About killing someone, let alone a group of people.
As he drew closer to the camp, he realized how loud the Charger's engine was and found a place to pull the vehicle over. He took only his .357 magnum with him as he walked the rest of the way to the camp. The quieter the better. He had made sure to leave enough room for a vehicle to pass, should the wrapper's former owner be in one. He hadn't thought of it until now, but it wasn't unlikely the path was used by kids on their ATVs.
As Cole made his way down the road, he thought about what he'd do if his cover was blown. He'd gotten into grueling fights, beaten a few people during his life, even put a few in the hospital, but he had never killed anyone. The woman at the bank wasn't wholly on him. That had been on Dirk. But he'd brought Dirk along, making the woman's death partly his fault too, just not his direct doing. So he did have a death on his hands. There was no turning back from it. He was on a one-way course. He had to protect what was his. Killing would most likely happen again if shit went bad, but he decided right then and there that it would be a last resort.
About fifty feet from the cliff that overlooked the lake, Cole headed into the woods and made his way down the sloping ground. Having not run into anyone on his way was a great relief, similar to when he passed the cop car back on the highway and realized the pig wasn't turning around to come after him.
But Cole's reprieve was stifled when he heard voices. He drew his gun and froze, not wanting to make a sound and alert whoever it was. There were maybe three or four people from the sound of it. Male and female. Watching where he stepped, he worked his way to the camp and peered out from behind a large oak.
After listening for a few minutes, he surmised that Derek was ill. Fever. And had some kind of rash. This was bad news, but his brother would recover. He'd probably just been bitten by something or caught a cold. Worse was that the people had discovered the money and put two and two together. He needed to do something before they called the cops.
Stepping out into the camp, he heard them say they couldn't get a cell signal. He smiled at the good news. And they sounded scared. Young, sheltered adults maybe. He was going to be the big, bad wolf and huff and puff them away. One of them had Derek's gun. No problem, he knew what to do about that.
He stepped gingerly up to the tent and stood a couple feet to the side of the entrance. A few minutes later, an attractive woman emerged. He reached out, grabbed her by her ponytail, pulled her to him and pressed the barrel of his gun to her head. As she attempted a scream, he covered her mouth. To his surprise, she didn't struggle. Her eyes were wide and her chest heaved as she tried to draw in more air. Fear came off her like sweat from a marathon runner.
"Tell your friends to come outside," he whispered, “or I'll start sending bullets into the tent and see who I hit."
He removed his hand from her mouth. The woman said nothing, only trembled.
"Do you want to see your friends dead?" he asked.
The woman shook her head.
"Then call them out here."
"G—guys," she said, her voice shaky. "Get out here, quick."
The arguing in the tent continued. Cole nudged the barrel harder against her skull.
"Get out here now," the woman said, more assertively this time.
A handsome, young dark-skinned man exited the tent. He stopped when his gaze landed on Cole.
Tyler's stomach felt as if it had dropped into his groin. Exactly what he feared had happened. They were all in terrible trouble. He thought about going for the gun stuffed in his pants at the small of his back, but didn't want to risk Kim's life. He would have to wait for the right time, when the gunman's guard was down.
Holding out his arms, palms facing the man, he said, "Whoa, fella. Everything's cool. You don't need to shoot anyone."
"Shut the fuck up," the man said. He motioned with his head. "Move away from the tent.”
"Look," Tyler said, "we didn't mean to stumble upon your place."
"What's going on out
there?" June asked as she stepped out of the tent. She hadn't seen the man with the gun standing off to her left yet and was staring at Tyler, hands on her hips. She looked annoyed. "What's wrong with you?"
Tyler looked from June to the man, then back at June before setting his gaze back to the man. June glanced to her left and her annoyed expression vanished. "Oh, shit."
"Stand over by him," the man with the gun said, indicating for June to move next to Tyler. "And you, in the tent. Get the fuck out here before I shoot one of these fine ladies."
"Who's that?" Edgar asked.
"C'mon, man," Tyler said, hoping his voice didn't crack and reveal how scared he was. "Just get out here before someone gets hurt." The .45 pressed against his flesh at the small of his back was like a grounding rod, keeping him from outright panicking. It was the only thing that was going to save him and his friends. He simply had to use it at the right time—when Kim was clear. He needed the gunman to relax so he could catch him off guard. Hero would be his new name. His father would be proud, and even if the old man wasn't, it didn't matter. The world would know what he had done.
Edgar swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to move. His hands were shaking, the stack of twenties he was holding flapping like a suffocating fish. Things had been going so well—he had been about to walk out of there with $20,000. The cops would have believed the thieves had spent it. But apparently, dangerous company had come along. He had no idea if there was a gang of robbers outside or only a single man. Either way, he and the others were in trouble now.
Dropping the money back into the bag, he looked around for a place to hide—maybe a back door zipper to escape from—before realizing how ridiculous he was being. Maybe he could find a weapon, something he could hide on his person and use it when the guy came near him. Preferably a cutting tool—razor or knife. But there was nothing that he could see. And he didn't have time to go rooting around the place.
"I ain't gonna ask again," the unfamiliar voice said, and then someone yelped.
"Don't hurt her," Tyler said. Then: "Edgar, get the hell out here."
The sick man on the air mattress let out a cry of pain and then quickly fell limp again. An idea popped into Edgar's head. The guy could be his hostage. It would be one hostage for three, but he also had the money. If the sick guy was family to the man outside it might work. He could get him and his friends out of there.
Hope blossomed in his chest, but only for a moment.
The bank robbers were lawless. Cold. Risk-takers. They had killed. For all he knew, the one outside didn't give a shit about his partner. Maybe the man had been poisoned by his accomplice so he could have all the money for himself.
Shit.
Tyler had a gun. Edgar didn't know if his friend would have the stones to use it. Tyler was strong in some aspects, like at his job. When it came to investing, the man never wavered. But when it came to dealing with his father, he caved. And the trip they were on? Tyler wasn't exactly in his element and it showed. The investment banker was good with guns, but that didn't mean he'd be able to blow someone away, even if their lives depended on it.
Edgar made up his mind right then and there, hoping Tyler would come through for them all.
A man with a trimmed beard and thick, wavy brown hair exited the tent. He looked at Cole for a moment, his face revealing nothing, and then stood next to the others.
"Anyone else?" Cole asked.
"No," the bearded man said.
Moaning came from within the tent.
"That's not someone we know," Edgar said quickly. "It's your man."
"No shit," Cole said. "Derek, you okay?"
No answer.
"Your friend is really sick," the Asian woman said.
"Get your ass out here, Derek," Cole said.
"He's too sick," the woman said again. "He needs a hospital."
Cole needed to see his brother. For all he knew, Derek had been tied up.
Surveying the people before him, he almost laughed. These were tourists, outfitted with their expensive hiking boots and city clothes. Pretenders. Shams. They wouldn't know how to tie someone up let alone survive out here if he burned their tent and left them naked and stranded. But it didn't mean they wouldn't be a problem. Weren't dangerous to his future. Hell, one of them had Derek's gun. A male. He'd heard the conversation.
"Which one of you has my brother's gun?" he asked, figuring it wisest to get the weapon off whoever had it. When no one answered, he said, "I know it's one of you gentlemen. So I can just shoot you both right now and then take it off your dead ass later."
"We don't have a gun," the clean-shaven, lanky man said. "We're vacationing from New York. Didn't think we'd need one."
Cole gave a slight nod as if he believed what he'd been told, then in a flash, pointed his .357 magnum at the bearded man. "If the person with the gun doesn't come forward, dickhead here dies. He doesn't need to. In fact, there doesn't need to be any violence at all, but I won't hesitate to kill each and every one of you. Hell, I should kill you all, except this one." Cole let his hand fall to his hostage's chest and squeezed one of her breasts. "You're a hottie, you know that, sweetie?" The girl squirmed as tears streaked her face.
"Get your hands off her," the clean-shaven man said.
"Tyler has it," the Asian woman said and pointed to Clean-Shaven.
"You fucking bitch," the clean-shaven man said.
Cole pivoted his gun arm so that it pointed at the one named Tyler. "That ain't no way to talk to a lady. Now toss the piece over to me, nice and slow."
Tyler rolled his eyes as he reached behind his back. Cole saw no fear on the man's face, only anger. He would need to watch him, the man's appearance deceiving.
"Slowly," Cole warned, keeping Tyler's head in the gun's sight. "Unless you're feeling lucky, like that punk in Dirty Harry. Do you feel lucky, punk? Because I highly doubt you'll even get the gun raised before I put a bullet between your eyes."
Derek's .45 appeared in Tyler's hand and was placed on the ground a foot in front of the man.
"I told you to toss it to me," Cole said and cocked back the hammer on his gun.
Tyler bent, picked up the .45 and tossed it to Cole. It landed with a thud a foot in front of him.
"Now take out your cell phones, place them on the ground and crush them with your feet."
"They don't work out here," June said.
"I don't give a shit, do it or this lady loses a few toes." Cole pointed his gun at his hostage's right foot.
Everyone took out their cell phones and began stepping on them until the electronic devices were nothing but piles of broken plastic and shattered glass.
"Anyone got any knives on them?" Cole asked.
"No," Tyler said. "That was all we had."
"If I find out you're lying—"
The bearded man's right hand moved to a pocket on his shorts.
Cole jerked his gun in his direction. "Hey."
The bearded man quickly put his hands up. "You asked if we had any other weapons, I was just getting one."
"Okay, slowly," Cole said.
The bearded man withdrew a small canister of some kind and tossed it over to Cole. "What the hell is that?"
"Bear repellant."
Cole laughed. "For real?" He shook his head. "That shit—"
A pain-filled cry erupted from the tent, cutting Cole's words short. It sounded like Derek was in agony.
"What's wrong with him?" he asked.
"We don't know," the Asian woman said. "But he looks bad."
"You need to take him to a hospital," the man with the beard said.
"No," Cole said, shaking his head. "No hospitals."
"He's really sick," the Asian woman said.
Cole was growing more frustrated by the second. He should just shoot them all and see to his brother. But flat out execution? He didn't think he had it in him. Sure he could do it, but living with such an act would haunt him.
"Names?" he said.
"Edgar," the bearded man said.
"Tyler," the lanky man said.
"And you, sweetie?" Cole asked, referring to the woman in his arms.
"Kim."
"Anyone happen to be a doctor?" Cole asked.
"I'm certified in nursing," June said.
"Excellent," Cole said, feeling a bit of relief.
Maybe having these people in camp would turn out to be a good thing in the long run. He looked at June. "Inside the tent, at the back right corner, is a red toolbox. Grab a couple rolls of duct tape and come back out. And don't take too long, or my trigger finger might get a little twitchy.
June moved, disappearing into the tent.
June's fists clenched as her legs wobbled. She was as angry as she was scared. Tyler had been right about the sick man's friend returning. They should have left right away, but she was stubborn. Hadn't wanted to leave a potentially dying man alone. If she'd truly thought they were in trouble, she would've run. She took her profession seriously, whether she was at the hospital or not, and always put the patient first. This was one time she wished she hadn't.
She told herself that there was no way to know for sure that they would've gotten away if they had left when Tyler had wanted to. They might've run into the gunman anyway. Or maybe he had been outside hiding the whole time they were in the tent. Regardless, thinking this way didn't make her feel any better.
She found the red toolbox, opened it, and picked up two rolls of duct tape. Turning around to leave, the sick man's condition caught her attention. A dark, maple syrup-like substance was leaking from the splotches on his flesh. The man's malady continued to baffle her. She'd never seen anything like it. Was his blood turning black? What could cause such a thing? In this part of the world? The guy was writhing as if he was having a slow-motion seizure, the black fluid leaking from his eyes and ears too.
The Sludge Page 7